Happy Monday to you all. Here’s a new limerick challenge. Your word is
DUST
Last week’s prompt was BREAD. You came up with some brilliant limericks:
Passover is “Bread of Affliction” week,
And despite great cooking technique,
Much to our consternation
The Affliction’s constipation…
A Jewish bind that ties so to speak.
There once was a man, name of Fred,
who was posh and extremely well bred;
He spoke upper class,
said, ‘Sloth’, ‘Scone’, and ‘Grass’,
but could only afford ‘Scrape’ on his bread.
Kate in Cornwall:
There once was a baker named Fred
Who won women’s hearts with his bread
He put on such a show
When he kneaded the dough
They were yearning to be wedded to Fred.
Once we never had a reason to dread,
The gluten that might ‘kill us’ in our bread.
Since doctors say, “It’s true.”
“We care ’bout all of you.”
And their proof is all our ancestors who are dead.
I swear he’s obsessed, good old Ted,
‘bout the fibre you find in brown bread.
Oh, he’s regular, no doubt,
But he never goes out,
‘Cos he’s stuck on the toilet instead.
There once was a baker named Fred,
Who dreamt of his loaves while in bed.
He’d knead through the night,
Till the dough rose just right,
Then woke up to crumbs — he’d sleep-ate the bread!
Moon Cheese With Bread And Wine
Although some say the moon’s made of cheese,
is there wine and fresh bread with that, please?
Are there olives as well
and soft moonbeams to tell
of that night with the soft light through trees?
Rall:
he wasn’t very well read
had atrocious table manners
but was good in bed
handsome enough
owned luxurious stuff
obviously had plenty of bread
Squirreljan:
He screamed at me, ‘Why don’t you use your bread.’
That plonker was completely off his head.
Loaf is the word
Or so I’d heard
And he’s a Cockney, ha! That’s what he said.
“Bread of heaven”, the Welsh say
Is what you need most every day
I think that’s the translation?
From the Celtic nation…
But eating porridge might be the way?
There once was a fellow named Ed,
Who refused to get out of bed
His wife couldn’t see,
It was only that he,
Wanted toast instead of bread.
I looked at my waistline with dread
I’d been eating way too much bread
So I cut it out
Yet my tummy did shout
So I filled it with veggies instead!
Murray Clarke:
I remember a famous chef named Ted
Whose speciality was baking bread,
But he was deaf in one ear –
And couldn’t really hear
And ended up making his bed, instead!
The family demanded to be fed
Wanting butter and jam with their bread,
Not wishing to boast
Dad said he’d have toast,
So Mum smacked him across the head.
He was there for the breaking of bread
But he heard not a word that was said
At any such meeting
His interest was fleeting
As he fought with the thoughts in his head
–
Alone with a knife slicing bread
Nasty thoughts getting caught in my head
I’ve just lost my wife
Should I take my own life?
Or just make a sandwich instead?
There once was a fellow named Fred
Who wanted to be called Rocco instead.
But his parents always wanted a girl
So they renamed him Pearl
And now his face keeps turning red!
Nice Slice
Most faces turning red
Cause this gal could bake some bread
Anxious fathers and sons
Stare as she toasted her buns
In the hot sun, or so it’s been said.
A Baker’s Dilemma
A baker who kneaded some bread
Got flour on top of his head
He sneezed with a wheeze
And fell to his knees
Now crumbs coat his kitchen instead.
‘He’s a man of sponge,’ said Uncle Ted,
‘With muffin ears and a carrot cake head.’
‘If ever he discovers yeast,’
‘He’ll soon become a kneady beast,’
‘And the rest of us will be better off bread.’
Fred Adores Bread
There once was a skeleton named Fred,
Who sold his soul for a handful of bread,
He rattled his bones,
And let out a soft moan,
‘There’s nothing better than a fat sarnie,’ he said.
Olaf Sturlasson’s Poetry Corner:
Whenever you feed the ducks bread
Get this advice stuck in your head
They find it hard to digest
So give it a rest
And feed them on duck food instead.
She saw that a meal with less bread
felt like her daughter, Janine wasn’t fed.
So the grown-up Janine,
in order to stay slim,
could only reduce eating before bed.
Dental Issues
I once bit into a piece of soft bread
My dental crown popped off
& I was filled with dread
Honestly I didn’t even know
I had this crown
But it was an easy fix
and no longer did I frown
So now I chew mostly everything
on the other side
instead
The noble Marie Antoinette,
before she lost her head,
was famous not for the things she did,
but for the things she said.
Oh, she exclaimed, for goodness sake,
if there’s no more bread to eat,
then let them all eat cake.
–
Bread and Roses sang the mill girls
As they left the factory gates
We march for Bread and Roses
And an increased hourly rate
Bread for our hunger
Roses for our souls
Wages for our labour
Roses for our toil.
–
From Hadrians wall to Yorkshire
It’s bacon butties yer’ll get
After that
It’s cob and baps
All the way to the Watford Gap
And then
It’s bacon rolls
Bagels and baguettes
but what we have in common
is the joy of bacon and bread
Loft Afloat
There once was a baker named Fred,
Whose bread rose right over his head!
He cried in dismay,
“It’s floating away!”
He should have made flatbread instead!
Nicola Daly:
I woke up with a horribly sore head
And discovered there was a mould on the bread
Dead slugs in the bath
And wet leaves on the path
So I decided to go back to bed!
A baker once rose from his bed,
With visions of loaves in his head.
He kneaded with flair,
Flung flour through air,
And proudly proclaimed, “I’m well-bread!”
Dawn Of The Bread
There once was a man named Fred
who loved to eat fresh bread,
he woke up one dawn
and found it all gone
and cried, “No bread, I’d rather be dead.
Dead Bread
It’s Day of the Dead
So Bake Some Bread
Do Not Fear
When Loved Ones Come Near
Make a Sugar Skull of their Head
–
A baker called Big Jed
Said, ‘Time to bake the bread’
So he turned on the oven
And notified the coven
That the witches would be fed.
Toast Is The Most
When your bread gets too old, make some toast
Dark as night or as pale as a ghost
Slapped on thick or scraped thin
Add some butter, dive in
Everyone knows the thing they love most.
–
Love mine well-done and crispy and cool
Thick-spread butter keeps shape, doesn’t pool
Or melt on to my fingers
Where oiliness lingers
Find the drips put me off, as a rule.
Give us this day our daily bread
We pray to God in our heads
But some insist
He doesn’t exist
And rely on the bakers instead.
***
Esther Chilton 
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